Proof You're Only Visiting San Francisco for the Holidays

-American flag hat

-You're a fan of Ann Coulter

-"Where do they make the Rice-a-Roni?"

-You're easily jostled around on the Muni like a pair of boots in a dryer

-While walking at a snail's pace along Market St., you're constantly looking up at nothing in particular.

-While walking through the Castro you laughingly blurt out the phrase, "Gay-borhood!"

-Continually complaining about the hills

-You have absolutely no qualms about staring at strangers

-You thought the phrases "Tender Knob" and "Knobby Loin" were allusions to seedy strip clubs

-"What's a Craigslist?"

-You get caught littering

-You feel guilty for not giving to the "homeless" kids in Haight-Ashbury

-"What the hell does 'hella' mean?"

-"Awww that's so cute! They named the rail system after Bart Simpson!"

-Upon seeing the fog roll in you ask, "Where's the smoke coming from?"

-You find the stench of piss on every corner in SoMa "strange and disconcerting"

How to Further Perpetuate Stereotypes 101

At the end of the day there is no glamor in the hustle. The pushers, the fiends, the dodging, the running, the lookouts, the hassle. Yeah, it's as real as the streets like that Mountain Dew Code Red, but it's as necessary as those fronts in your mouth.

Point of reference: Everyday as I ascend the stairs at the Powell Station I see idle Afro-Americans (I prefer to say "black") milling around looking for a John.

I get hassled occasionally. But most of the usual suspects have learned not to bother me. I work in the building and I keep my head down for the most part so I'm an innocent passerby.

But there was a day where I did get called out. It was 8am. I'm walking into my building and a dude mutters to me, "Trees?".

I looked at him as if he had insulted me.

"Nah, dog. I gotta go to work."

So few words but so much said. It's 8 o' fuckin' clock and you're asking me if I wanna buy pot. I 'm walking into my JOB. I have an actual JOB. You should get a JOB son. A real JOB. Peddling seedy trees may be a quick solution but the problem is long-term.

We fill jails with black men's bodies. Minds go to shit. Society's opinion of us gets even shittier. The dudes pushing outside my job are really just slinging stereotypes. Baggy gear, fronts, medallions, Bluetooth in the ear, ostentatiously loud (which must be bad for business, right?). Just knuckleheads on the block wasting time and wasting lives.

After work it's the same story but even more vexing. It's the Afterschool Special gone wrong. High School kids taking over the stairs dealin' expletives instead of dope. N-word this, "i'd kick his ass" that. It's tired. And I'm tired of the minstrel act.

It's kids like that that kill me. It's kids like that who anger me. It's kids like that which make people think I've got some self-hating, anti-black MO. The truth of the matter is that I'm so worked up about that situation because it's my peeps doing it to one another. It's my peeps giving dap to stereotypes instead of debunking them.

If the average white person thinks you're a knucklehead you don't have to be a knucklehead. Brush, that chip off your shoulder. Jay-Z should've made that a hit instead. No one owes you anything. You owe it to yourself to break down the assumptions and prosper.

I'll say it one more time: Don't be the dick-grabbing, baggy pants, potty-mouthed, rap video cliche.

This shit needs to stop. Rant done. Dread Out.

Sans Mustache

So after an entire pubescent and adult life of being mustachioed I decided to take the blade to my upper lip.

Was it boredom? Was it curiosity? Was it risky?

Yes to all of the above.

What's done is done and my face isn't the same. My visage looks longer. Horse-ified. But I'm my own worst critic so I'm sure it's not as bad as I think. Yet, I do feel naked without my stache.

It'll grow back in due time. Meanwhile all I can do it listen to Lionel Richie, curl up in the fetal position with the lights off and sob as I think about all the milk mustaches I'll miss. I also won't be able to twirl the ends of my stache like the silent film villain who ties the girl to the railroad tracks.

Damn, I'll miss those moments the most.

Alas, my mustache will return and so will my mojo. Until then I'll look like Tracy Morgan with dreads.

Ronaldinho v. Cristiano Ronaldo

How We Ended Up in the ER During the Holidays

-Re-enactment of the Nativity scene gone horribly wrong

-Shear gluttony

-Too much Crunk Nog

-Watched "A Christmas Story", licked a frozen pole

-Fruitcake + Wild Turkey+ "Wanna bet I can't do that?"

-Passed out for two hours while making "Drunken Snow Angels"

-Tryptophanasitis

-Boredom due to the Writers' Strike and having to use superfluous vacation time before '08

-Tried to put your crazy uncle in the Figure Four Leg Lock without preliminary stretching

-Punched through your plasma screen TV in a fit of dementia induced by too many meaningless College Football Bowl Games

-Dysentery

-She didn't want a "Dick in the Box" for Hanukkah

The Little Indie That Could

I hope hope hope "Juno" will become this year's "Little Miss Sunshine". I began championing it immediately after seeing the trailer during an episode of Project Runway.

The trailer spelled it out clearly: A sly comedy about Ellen Page, a pregnant teen, carrying Michael Cera's (George Michael from Arrested Development and of recent "Superbad" fame) bastard child set in Middle America.

Gold.

Ellen Page vaults herself into Hollywood "It Girl" status with her performance as Juno MacGuff--a 16 year old, guitar toting, omnipotent, smarty-pants, preggers tomboy. As Juno, Page is a sage beyond her years. She knows everything about everything...and she'll tell you twice.

Don't get it twisted, Page isn't jaded she just has a big mouth. The writers of "Juno" use Page as a mouthpiece to debate about everything from The Stooges status in the rock n roll pantheon to the reasons why teenagers have sex.

Watch Page's interaction with potential surrogate babydaddy Jason Bateman--priceless. It's more like two 30 somethings engulfed in conversation rather than a teenager and a lonely married man.

Michael Cera depicts Paulie Bleeker (Juno's love interest/awkward sidekick) brilliantly. Cera's become a master of playing that awkward, nerdy teen. His take on Bleeker builds on the strength of his roles in Arrested Development and "Superbad".

In a remotely Wes Andersonian way, Cera wears an unofficial uniform of skimpy bright yellow running shorts, head band, wrist bands and burgundy tank top throughout the film. He also shows us another place where deodorant can alleviate foul odors.

I could go on for hours about this film. From the uber cool posters on Juno's wall to the references of Craigslist's ubiquity, it's all well conceived.

At times the writing seems to be overdone but it walks that superfluous tightrope with grace. They really play on the instant Wikipedian-like slang additions to our lexicon in which teenagers birth daily. The phrase "wizard" has now usurped my overuse of "cool".

In the end, "Juno" is a feel-good comedy in a witty little 92 min. package. Short and brash and sweet.

The Village Voice touts it as the "Perfect Movie". I'd have to agree.

Saul Williams is the Truth

14 Reasons

This blog exists because it can.
This blog exists because it should.
This blog exists because I want a bigger mouthpiece.
This blog exists because I'm bored.
This blog exists because I need the practice.
This blog exists because it's free.
This blog exists so you can laugh.
This blog exists so you can contemplate my words.
This blog exists so we can share (because sharing is caring).
This blog exists so you can disagree.
This blog exists so we can find the truth.
This blog exists so you can read it.
This blog exists so you don't have to read it.
This blog exists This blog exists